


work a little harder, work another way

by shinealightonme



Series: what useless tools ourselves [5]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Author couldn't think of any shade to throw at LA you'll just have to hate it for yourself this time, Bondage, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Safeword Fail, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 01:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18305087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: Ronan has an unexpected kink, and Adam is totally fine with that. Why wouldn't he be? He can handle this. It's not a problem.





	work a little harder, work another way

**Author's Note:**

> You ever write one line in one fic as a throwaway bit of characterization and then it lives in your head for an entire year and won't leave you alone until you've written thousands of words about it? This is that.
> 
> The sex in this fic is consensual, but there's a few rough spots and some failures to communicate ( _what a surprise from these two_ ), so tread lightly if that's the kind of thing that could be a problem for you.

Adam grabs the last box out of the Mustang's trunk and sets it down with a grimace. He's made a neat pyramid of boxes next to the elevator, too few considering it represents all of his earthly possessions, too many considering he had to haul them all over here himself. He thinks he pulled something in his shoulder.

At least he still had all the boxes from the last time he moved. That's the only good thing Adam has to say about today.

"That everything?"

Adam turns just in time to see Ronan pull off his shirt and use it to wipe sweat off his face.

Okay, maybe there are two good things about today.

"That's all of my stuff. It'll be at least one more trip to get the rest of your garbage." Adam had packed systematically, though not as quickly as he would've liked. When he left Stanford he didn't have a boyfriend who was addicted to giving him stupid presents, Mickey Mouse ears and a wine glass shaped like a skull and a potted cactus because _it made me think of you, it's all prickly and hostile and shit_. The gifts are too cheap for Adam to object, and they're annoying enough that he thinks Ronan is waiting for him to object, so it wasn't like he could "forget" them in the move.

Ronan, on the other hand, had spent one hour that morning throwing things into boxes at random without a care for organization or the survival of his belongings. The end result had been something like the sprawling ruins of a lost civilization, and definitely could not be shoved into his car all in one go. A truck would have helped, but Adam's budget and both of their pride had forbade them from renting anything for the move.

Of course, now that they're living through it, Adam is thinking longingly of professional movers. A bunch of buff men in coveralls could have handled all of this for him while he got a massage or a latte or -- well, probably he would have gone into the office to prep for next week's deposition. But at least he wouldn't have pulled any muscles doing that.

Ronan shoves his discarded shirt into a box. Adam takes advantage of his distraction to stealthily roll his shoulder. It doesn't feel any better.

Ronan hoists the top box on Adam's pyramid. "I'll carry these up if you drive back and get the rest of the shit."

Adam glares at Ronan's back. How the hell does he notice these things when he isn't even looking? "I can carry my own boxes."

Ronan glances over at him, feigning boredom. "Yeah, but I don't want to deal with parking."

Adam _can_ carry his own boxes. He can stand here and argue for the right to do that and fuck up his shoulder even more. But that's not going to get them moved into the new apartment any faster, and he _wants_ to be moved in. He wants to have a home.

So he drives back over to the old place for what he sincerely hopes will be the last time in his life and brings the rest of Ronan's boxes down to the car. They're deceptively light. He pries a few open and sees that they're half-empty, like lifeboats launched prematurely from the Titanic.

Wasted space or not, he manages to fit them into the car. They decided they were abandoning the furniture, since none of it is nice enough to be worth the hassle. ("I found this bed on the side of the freeway," and the time to tell Adam that was _before_ he slept in it or else _never, Ronan Niall Lynch_.) He drops their keys off. Their ex-landlord takes them from him while glaring at the Mustang where it's parked, the way Adam has dreamed of doing since he first moved in, in the middle of the driveway. Adam gets his security deposit back. He does not get Ronan's.

And then -- he drives away, and leaves six months of his life behind. A sudden strange melancholy grips him. If he doesn't have anything to show for that time, did it even really happen? He can't shake the feeling of abandoning, or being abandoned, not until he arrives at the new apartment and finds Ronan waiting for him in the parking garage.

They get the rest of Ronan's boxes up to the apartment and stack them haphazardly in the entryway. Adam finds that his neatly labeled boxes are already stowed in their appropriate rooms -- _bathroom, bedroom, living room,_ everything except _kitchen_ because he doesn't own anything that would go in one. They're going to have to shop for a bunch of essentials soon, but until then there's takeout and frozen food.

And until then, there's Ronan, stripping off his pants and turning on the shower. Adam doesn't point out that their towels are still boxed up, just steps into the shower with him. They need to wash off the sweat of the day, and if he takes the opportunity to stroke his hands over Ronan's shoulders, his back, his cock until he's swearing into Adam's neck -- well, that's just practical. Their sheets are still boxed up, too.

Adam is smug for just as long as it takes Ronan to turn off the water and drag Adam out of the shower. He presses Adam up against the sink, stands close behind him and kisses the side of his neck, watching his face in the mirror the whole time.

Adam shuts his eyes. It's embarrassing, being watched, being watched so _hungrily_. He likes it. It's embarrassing that he likes it.

Ronan takes his time, licking drops of water off of Adam's skin, nosing along his shoulder blades, tracing his spine with his tongue. By the time he's on his knees Adam is sprawled out over the sink, one hand on the counter and the other pressed palm against the mirror, holding himself up in anticipation of -- oh, fuck, _that_ , Ronan's tongue licking into him, turning his legs to liquid, stealing his breath away in pants and moans.

Ronan takes his time here, too. Adam is desperate to get off from the first wet touch inside of him, but Ronan winds him up, makes him wait. His eyes open and for a second he sees himself how Ronan must see him: lewd, outrageous, desirable.

He closes his eyes. He wants to get off, and he wants this to last, he wants to have everything and to not ask for any of it. He wants impossible contradictory things, and somehow they add up to Ronan, maddening, thrilling, overwhelming Ronan, something that Adam had never guessed at wanting, something Adam never wants to give up.

-

Adam unpacks his things quickly, essentials on the first day and everything else on the second.

Two weeks in, most of Ronan's crap is still in boxes, because his approach to unpacking could most charitably be described as _not strategic_. He waits until he needs something, digs through boxes at random until he finds it, and then closes the boxes back up with everything else still inside them.

Adam isn't going to unpack for him, because Ronan can do what he wants with his own belongings, and because Adam is not Cinderella. He falls into the same pattern out of necessity, when they're out of clean towels, when his earbuds die and he wants to borrow Ronan's extra pair, when Ronan works three night shoots in a row and Adam is so sick of falling asleep alone that he digs out Ronan's comfiest hoodie and wears that, until he feels pathetic and puts it back and stacks boxes on top of it to hide his tracks.

So when Adam needs to borrow a hammer to hang up some pictures on their pathetically bare walls, he doesn't ask Ronan if he knows where the tools ended up. He just opens the nearest box.

Ronan's on the couch fiddling with his laptop, doing whatever part of sound editing can be done without listening to any kind of sound. Adam doesn't really understand Ronan's work, but then, Ronan's idea of criminal justice reform is The Purge, so Adam just chalks it up to separate interests being a healthy part of a relationship.

He gets lucky. The hammer is in the first box he checks, along with a Frisbee, three shoes from three different pairs, a broken coffee mug, and --

Adam blinks.

"Lynch, did you rob a cop?"

Ronan actually thinks it over before he answers, like he's not sure. "I've heckled a cop."

That might be worse, but Adam doesn't get distracted. He long ago resigned himself to the day he has to bail his boyfriend out of jail. "That doesn't explain where you got these."

Ronan looks up from his laptop long enough to spot what Adam is holding, and then he goes back to his laptop. "You can get anything online, Parrish."

"Why would you want a pair of handcuffs?"

Ronan looks up again and holds his gaze until Adam gets it.

"Oh." They feel suddenly heavy in his hand. "You really like getting -- " He doesn't know how to finish the thought.

"I don't wear them."

Adam says "oh" again.

Ronan goes back to his laptop. Adam puts the handcuffs down in the box, grabs the hammer, folds the flaps over until the box is closed again.

His body knows how to keep moving when it needs to. His brain has never been so well-behaved. He measures the wall, hammers in the hardware, hangs the pictures, and the whole time he can see those handcuffs.

Ronan has never given any indication of thinking their sex life was missing something. He's shown no sign of wanting to tie Adam up, or control him, or -- hurt him. Ronan doesn't want any of those things.

He can still feel the weight of the handcuffs across his palm, iron solid proof that he does.

-

The handcuffs haunt Adam for the rest of the week. Every time he thinks he's banished them, convinced himself that they don't matter, Ronan will _do something_ , off-hand and meaningless and infuriatingly perfect. Gansey gets on his nerves, and Ronan picks a pointless and distracting argument with Blue. The restaurant screws up their order, and Ronan makes an obnoxious show of stealing all of the bell peppers that Adam didn't want to eat anyway. Adam loses his temper assembling Ikea furniture, and Ronan seduces him and then finishes putting their new sofa together after Adam has passed out.

He feels ashamed every time he catches Ronan doing something just to make him happy. He's stopped noticing, or he never noticed, how many of those there are.

There's so few things that he does, just for Ronan.

He tries to come home early on Fridays, and this weekend is no exception. They eat dinner and make fun of Ronan's latest shitty indie film, and then when Ronan is in the bathroom brushing his teeth, Adam digs back through the box.

He lies out along the bed with the cuffs dangling from one hand, but he immediately feels ridiculous. He sits up, crosses his legs with the cuffs nestled between his heels and his groin. Their steel cold hollows stare up at him like eyes.

Ronan steps into the doorway.

Adam smiles with the corner of his mouth and holds the cuffs up with one fingertip.

Ronan flicks off the bathroom light and steps the rest of the way into the bedroom. His voice is carefully neutral when he asks "you want to?"

"Do you need an invitation?" and that isn't the same as saying _yes_. Ronan doesn't notice. He trusts Adam not to trick him with a half-truth.

Ronan climbs onto the bed and kisses Adam. His hands close around Adam's face before sliding down to his back, firm and deliberate. Adam tries to focus on that, on the care that Ronan is showing so far. He tugs on Adam's hips, pulling him closer, and Adam unfolds his legs to allow him in. For one second they fit together perfectly, lock and key.

Ronan takes the handcuffs. There's a wide, devil-may-care grin on his face, because of Adam. Because Adam did something good for him.

"Ready?"

"You change your mind, Lynch? Get on with it."

The first cuff closes around his wrist with a terrible finality.

Except it isn't over, it's just beginning. Ronan pushes him down onto his back and threads the chain around the bed post before snapping the cuff around his second wrist. Adam is short on breath. _Turned on_ , he thinks. _Excited_.

Ronan runs a finger up Adam's arm, along his jawline, finally rests it on Adam's lips. He looks thoughtful.

Adam shuts his eyes. He doesn't need to watch the possibilities play out before they happen. He just needs Ronan to get on with it.

The mattress moves as Ronan stands up, and then there are hands around Adam's ankles. His legs are yanked out away from him. That surprises a gasp out of him, gets air back into his lungs.

Ronan pulls his ankles a little further, until Adam is completely stretched out. His feet are cold. His arms are straight out above his head.

"Does that hurt?"

Adam shakes his head. It doesn't hurt.

The mattress dips under Ronan's weight again. His body is so close, right over Adam's. And that's important, it is, except Adam's having trouble breathing again. He focuses on inhale, exhale, inhale, instead of focusing on Ronan. He has to get a grip on himself first. Then he can get back into it.

His hands tilt. The cuffs dig into his wrists, cold and solid. He can't pull too hard against them with his arms stretched out. He has no leverage in this position. He can't pull free. Of course. That's the point of handcuffs.

He doesn't think about that. He focuses on breathing.

Inhale --

"Adam?"

Exhale -- 

"Adam."

Inhale --

"Come on, talk to me."

If he talks he's going to screw this up.

Exhale --

If he doesn't breathe he can't talk.

Ronan is swearing, and there's something off about it but Adam can't think what it is. His lungs are starting to burn. His wrists hurt.

Ronan's hand is on his arm and there's a snap of metal like a gunshot when the cuff pops open.

Adam gasps and yanks his arm in toward his body. The empty cuff whips around the bedpost and smacks into Ronan. Adam ricochets off him and scrambles away across the bed.

Ronan reaches for him.

Adam freezes.

Ronan freezes too, and then he drops the key on the bed between them and pulls away. Adam picks up the key, but it takes him four tries before he can get the second cuff off; his hands are shaking.

He stands up. Places the cuffs down on the bedside table. His body knows how to keep going even when his brain is stuck, or it always did until now --

"Adam?"

He walks into the bathroom and runs cold water over his red wrists for a long, long time. He makes the mistake of looking in the mirror. Ronan is watching his reflection. Adam looks back down at the faucet.

Ronan is still watching him when he walks back into the bedroom. Adam can feel it, even if he can't bring his own eyes any higher than the foot of the bed.

There's a moment where the silence is covering something -- concern or fear or judgment -- and then the light clicks off. Adam crawls into bed without a word.

-

The handcuffs are gone when Adam wakes up the next morning. He doesn't mention it; he's too ashamed. He wants to make it up to Ronan -- to make it up _twice_ , since the first attempt was supposed to be for Ronan anyway. But it looks like a spontaneous gesture isn't the way to go.

He starts doing research when he's alone in the apartment, in an incognito window, paranoid the computer is going to rat him out. No handcuffs, fine. There will be something else, something that works.

Fetish gear runs expensive. The part of Adam that winces when he writes a rent check won't let him drop the money for a quality pair of restraints, or for a cheap pair that'll just turn out to be junk. He reads about different kinds of rope, instead, watches tutorials and practices until he can do the knots, knows backwards and forwards how they work.

He binds his ankles, since he can't get both his own wrists, and then sits tied up on the bed to see what happens. Nothing, except that he feels foolish, a kid sweeping a flashlight through the dark to spot a boogie man that doesn't exist.

There's no reason for this to bother him. In the history of crimes against his body, there's no charge for _restraints_. He has no traumatic associations with rope.

He didn't have any traumatic associations with handcuffs, either.

Adam dismisses that thought and tugs on the rope to check for chafing.

-

"I think you should tie me up." He couldn't think of a delicate way to bring it up, so he settles for straightforward.

From the frown Ronan is giving him, he should have come up with something better than that.

"I have rope," Adam continues. "If that works for you," and it's just now occurring to him that maybe it was the handcuffs, specifically, that made it good for Ronan. God, he's such an idiot.

Ronan is still frowning, but he says "show me," and follows Adam to the bedroom. He takes the rope when Adam offers it to him and runs it through his hands, assessing it.

Apparently it passes muster. He steps behind Adam and pulls his wrists, one and then the other, until they meet behind his back. "Is that comfortable?"

"It's fine." He's getting tied up. What does comfort have to do with anything?

Ronan runs the rope over one of his wrists. He'd expected to get stripped down, first; he can't see how Ronan will get his shirt off once his hands are tied together. Maybe that doesn't matter. Maybe it's better if he can undress Adam once Adam can't do anything to stop it.

He wouldn't stop it anyway, so it doesn't matter.

The rope is around both wrists, now. Ronan tugs on it. It's secure. He fits his hand in the space between Adam's body and the rope. "How are your shoulders?"

"They're fine, Ronan."

The rope wraps around his elbow, next. Adam wasn't expecting that, but it doesn't matter. He asked for it, so now he's going to shut up and deal with it.

Ronan threads the rope around Adam's arms. This is more intricate than any of the knots Adam studied, but Ronan doesn't falter. He knows what he's doing -- because he likes working with his hands, because he learned to tie knots on the ranch? Or because of this, tying up people who aren't Adam, people who don't freak out, people who aren't fighting like mad for every scrap of control they can get over themselves, people who aren't so selfish they can't just let someone use them --

Ronan rests a hand on Adam's shoulder, where it's tensed up to his ear. "What are you thinking?"

Adam hangs his head. His mouth is so full of shame he can hardly speak. "Take it off."

It takes Ronan less time to get the ropes off then it had taken to put them on, and Adam can't even be grateful for that. He has to wonder if Ronan knew all along that he was going to chicken out.

The rope falls to the ground. Before Adam can step away, Ronan's arms come up around him. Adam turns and buries his face against Ronan's chest. At least that way Ronan can't see him.

"Lie down with me?" Ronan asks in his ear, softly.

Adam nods.

They lie on their bed. Adam ends up mostly on top of Ronan, which isn't terribly comfortable for either of them, but Ronan is still holding him, and Adam wants to hide his face. Ronan noses at his hair and doesn't make him talk. Ronan always knows what Adam wants, and he's still giving it to him like Adam hasn't conclusively proven that he's incapable of doing the same.

Adam wakes up some time later with Ronan's arm still around him. Ronan is propped awkwardly up on one pillow, reading Gravity's Rainbow, which Adam keeps on the nightstand to read in bed in passive-aggressive protest of Ronan's ban on work in the bedroom. It would have been the only thing Ronan could reach without displacing Adam, because somehow Adam screwed up bondage so badly that he tied Ronan down, instead.

Ronan must notice he's awake, because he says, conversationally, "this book makes no fucking sense."

"Yeah, that's kind of the point." Adam sits up and rubs a hand over his face. He feels greasy. He wishes he hadn't fallen asleep in his clothes.

Ronan takes a minute to put the book down, like he wants to get to the end of his paragraph. "Why did you ask me to tie you up?"

Adam would've been happier if Ronan wanted to finish the whole book before starting this conversation. "I thought you'd like it."

"And the handcuffs?"

"You wanted them."

"Don't put this on me," Ronan says. "I never asked to you give yourself a fucking panic attack."

"I thought I could handle it." Neither of them are shouting, yet, but Adam can feel it coming. "Thanks for rubbing it in that I couldn't, I guess I deserve that."

Ronan doesn't shout. Ronan stares at him with something like incredulity. "What do you think this is about?"

"You want to -- " Adam trips over the words, to his own disgust. He's a practicing attorney, he's current on his student loan payments, he has a 401(k) for crying out loud; he can talk about sex. "You're into bondage, and that's fine, and I'm _trying_ to be into it, but it's hard, okay? I'm not good at this, I'm not generous like you are."

"Adam, I don't give a shit about handcuffs or ropes or any of that crap," Ronan says. "The only goddamn thing I want is for you to trust me."

The tumblers fall into place and the lock pops open.

"Of course I trust you," Adam says.

Ronan looks unconvinced. Underneath that, he looks hurt. It hurts Adam, too, because he didn't trust Ronan, and now Ronan can't trust him.

"Ronan, I trust you." Adam does the only thing he can think of to prove it: he crosses his wrists and holds them out to Ronan.

Ronan looks at him for a long moment before he takes a hold of his wrists.

"Lie down."

Adam lies on his back. Ronan lifts his arms up over his head. There's an awkward moment where they're caught between the pillow and the headboard, before Adam scoots down the bed and they get everything arranged better. It isn't like the time with the handcuffs. Adam's arms are bent at the elbows instead of being stretched out. It's comfortable, almost, once they get settled.

Ronan shifts his hold on Adam so that he can grip both of his wrists with one hand. He swings his body over Adam's and pins Adam's legs down with his knees. Half his weight is coming down on his captive wrists, not enough to be painful, but enough to make it perfectly clear: Adam can't get out.

"Talk to me." It isn't panicked. It also isn't a question.

Adam says "Ronan," because that's the best thing he can think to say.

"Close your eyes."

Adam closes his eyes.

"I have you," Ronan says. His voice is perfectly even, and how odd is that; he'll rage over billboards he hates and try to make stupid jokes sound like seductive pick up lines, but when he has Adam completely at his mercy he's steady and composed. "You can't go anywhere and you can't do anything. Nothing can happen to you unless I want it to. Is that what you want?"

Adam considers it. He still can't figure out how this works, but Ronan is sure of it and Adam -- Adam is sure about Ronan.

He looks up at Ronan. "Yes."

Ronan strokes his wrist with his thumb, twice, slow and soothing. "Then close your fucking eyes already."

Adam closes his eyes and the entire world becomes nothing but Ronan -- the hand on his wrists, and the knees digging into his thighs, and the fingers pushing his shirt up. That part takes a fair amount of work, actually. Even after Adam arches his back in an attempt to be helpful, it's several rough tugs before the shirt is over his head and tangled around his arms.

Ronan's hand brushes over his exposed skin, not with any real purpose but just because he can. Or maybe -- Adam inhales sharply when he feels Ronan's breath, a second before Ronan kisses his neck -- maybe that is the purpose, is just to remind them both that he can touch Adam, anywhere he wants to.

Ronan's mouth works its way along his body, in that same aimless manner. He licks the crease where Adam's neck meets his shoulder, kisses a line down to his collarbone, uses his tongue to play with Adam's nipples, all of it slow and easy. Easy for Ronan, at least; Adam twitches every time Ronan settles on some new unexpected spot, shudders when he moves on.

Ronan bites Adam's jaw, teeth scraping along bone too close to the skin, and Adam bucks up hard against Ronan's hands.

"Stop that."

 _Well, what am I supposed to do when you do that_ , Adam thinks. He has to bite down on his lip not to derail this yet again.

Ronan kisses his mouth, soft and open, and runs his tongue along Adam's lip, right where he'd just bitten it. It feels like chastisement. Adam wasn't supposed to do that -- no, Adam wasn't supposed to do _anything_. That had sounded like a limitation at the time, _you can't go anywhere and you can't do anything,_ and it still sounds like a limitation. But it also sounds like a clear and direct answer to the question Adam didn't want to ask. _What am I supposed to do_? Absolutely nothing.

He realizes that he's strung out tight as a trip wire. All of the anxiety and worry that's always haunting his door has come to rest in his arms and his shoulders and his back and his legs. And why? All Ronan is going to do is make him feel good, because even when Adam _tries_ to do something selfless Ronan just turns it back on him. The only way this is going to go wrong is if Adam screws it up again. And Adam can't screw it up because _Adam can't do anything_.

So he lets go. Breathes out, and lets the tension slip out of him.

He hears Ronan breath in, quick. "Yeah," and there's something rough about Ronan's voice, like he's tense now that Adam has relaxed, "just like that." His mouth covers Adam's again, and it isn't a kiss but something raw and unfinished. Just another meeting point for their bodies, another claim that Ronan is staking. That thought tears a small noise out of Adam.

Ronan shifts, kissing him deeply. Adam kisses back, slow and lazy, until he loses his train of thought, loses his breath, loses track of time.

Ronan breaks off the kiss and runs a finger across Adam's eyebrows, his eyelids, his mouth. His hands have never been soft, not with all his hefting of sound equipment and chasing of farm animals and building of ill-advised craft projects to foist off on Gansey. But even if his hands are rough, the way that he's touching Adam is light and delicate. His hand trails down to Adam's body again, and this time he's much more strategic. Every touch lands somewhere that makes Adam melt, or maybe Adam would melt no matter where Ronan touched him.

His fingers are resting on Adam's hipbone when he stops. "Don't move, okay?"

Adam almost asks _why would I move_ before Ronan's knees slide off his legs and onto the mattress on either side of him. He's flush against Adam, and he's hard. Adam has an instinct to push up against him. He remembers just in time that he can't.

It's only a moment, and then Ronan swings a leg over Adam so he's beside him instead of on top of him. He puts a hand under Adam's hip and flips up onto his stomach, one quick easy movement.

Ronan is so strong; Adam forgets that, sometimes, but it's true. Ronan could do anything to him, and what he does is -- this, lays him out along the mattress and kisses the spot between his shoulder blades and tucks one finger under his chin to turn his head, so that his face isn't crushed against the bed.

Adam only realizes his hands are free when Ronan pulls his shirt off his arms. As soon as he's done that he twists his arms up behind his back. His wrists are crossed over the small of his back, and Ronan pins them down while he tugs at Adam's pants. It's a laborious process one-handed, but that just highlights the fact that Ronan is holding him down, and Adam is panting open-mouthed by the time Ronan has him how he wants him. He's tense now, from anticipation, from the way that his cock is pressing into the mattress. He tries to melt again, but he can hear himself thinking about what the most relaxed way to lie down would be, so he's obviously not doing it right.

Ronan's free hand comes to rest between his shoulders. His thumb traces soft lazy circles along his spine. "Fuck, you're incredible."

His shoulders rise up to his ears, because Ronan can't _say_ things like that, and he opens his mouth to tell him that.

"Shut up." Adam feels the mattress dip as Ronan places a hand on the bed near his head, and then there's Ronan's voice low in his ear. "Don't argue with me. You don't get to say anything unless you want me to stop. Got it?"

Adam has to swallow before he can nod his agreement, a tiny gesture smothered by pillows.

Ronan runs his tongue over the rim of Adam's ear. "You're incredible," he says again, and that has to be another chastisement, punctuated a second later when Ronan bites his earlobe. "You're doing great, I'm going to give you what you deserve."

A shiver runs through Adam at that threat, _what he deserves_ \-- except this is Ronan, who thinks that Adam deserves weekends away from the office and parking he doesn't have to hunt twenty minutes for and the words _you're incredible_ whispered in his ear.

Ronan kisses the back of his neck. He stays there with his face buried against Adam's skin for a long time. At first his breath tickles, but Adam gets used to it. He finds that he's breathing in time with Ronan.

Ronan places his teeth on Adam's neck and slowly, slowly bites down. Adam doesn't buck, this time. It hits him like a release, _oh, that's what we were waiting for,_ so he can stop waiting.

Ronan straightens back up. Absurdly, Adam misses him. When Ronan runs a hand through his hair, Adam sighs in contentment.

"Yeah? You like that?" Ronan asks, but joke's on him because Adam isn't going to answer. He doesn't have to explain how wonderful it feels when Ronan's fingernails graze his scalp, how he's feeling phantom scrapes in places Ronan hasn't even touched him.

Ronan's fingers curl into a fist and he tugs on Adam's hair, hard. It pulls another sigh out of Adam.

"What, you like that too? Can't make up your damn mind."

Adam makes a _hmm_ noise again, just to be smart.

"I'm onto you," Ronan says. "You think I don't know how badly you want to be touched, but I know. You want every fucking thing."

Adam inhales, sharp. His eyes aren't just shut now, they're squeezed tight. His whole body has gone rigid like Ronan slide a knife into him.

Ronan opens his fist and strokes Adam's hair. "You think there's any chance I know that and I'm not going to give it to you?"

Adam's on high alert for another shuddering moment, and then he breathes out in one long shaky breath and collapses in on himself.

"There it is." Ronan straddles him. The weight of his body presses down on Adam's wrists and his back and his thighs. "See?" and Adam does see.

Ronan runs a finger down his spine. It leaves a cold gel trail, and Adam thinks _oh, lube_ , a moment before Ronan slides a finger inside of him. Usually when they fuck it's sweat and muscle and adrenaline, as hard and fast as they can push each other -- but he's lying on his stomach with his hands behind his back, he can't push Ronan to do anything. And he can't push himself because Ronan would know. Ronan would stop him. Whatever is about to happen, Ronan is going to make it happen -- so Adam just breathes.

"You're so smart," Ronan says, "shit, you're a genius, you're my genius," and Adam isn't even bothered by the words this time, because where the hell did _that_ come from, what does that have to do with anything?

Ronan sticks two fingers in him. It pushes the other thoughts out of his mind. He tunes into that, becomes hyper-aware of the way that his body is stretching for Ronan. Feels how he opens more every time that Ronan asks for more, until Ronan is pressing his cock against Adam and sliding in.

Adam groans, quietly. It's drowned out by the stream of filth Ronan stammers out, "fuck, fuck, shit, fuck," which is so at odds with the tender way that he's handling Adam. His cock is pushing in slowly, in small easy rocking motions that send spasms of joy out to odd parts of his body. Adam feels it in his fingertips, the roof of his mouth, the soles of his feet, an inescapable pleasure chasing him down everywhere that he looks for it.

Ronan is still calling him names, _amazing_ and _beautiful_ and _perfect_. Adam lets it wash over him, blending in with his breath, with the soft slap of their bodies coming together.

Ronan grips the back of his neck. There's no weight resting there, but the grip is solid, undeniable contact. Ronan runs his thumb over Adam's skin, over his own teeth marks.

"You're doing so good."

Adam breathes out, barely a moan.

"Fuck, Adam, you're amazing, _fuck_ \-- "

Ronan bites out that last word, suddenly heated, and pulls out. The grip on Adam's neck goes painfully tight. Ronan's cock thrusts against his hand, once, twice, and then Ronan is coming across his back. Adam shivers at the feel of Ronan's release against his skin.

Ronan is breathing hard, somewhere above him that feels far away. Adam focuses on the hands on his neck and wrists, and the come cooling on his back, and the stretched sore used feeling throughout him, while he waits for Ronan to come back to him.

And he does. Ronan grabs his hip, slides a hand around to his chest, and uses that hold on Adam to roll both of them over in one fast dizzy motion. Adam ends up sitting in front of Ronan, pressed against his chest. Ronan has a hand over his heart. He slides it up to take a hold of Adam's jaw and tilt his head back to rest on his shoulder.

Adam's left arm is pinned under Ronan's arm, but his right arm is free. Ronan takes his hand and lifts it up until it's on his back, and oh, shit, now he gets to _touch_ Ronan. He runs his palm along Ronan's shoulder, each inch of skin under his palm sending thrills through him.

Ronan hooks his feet around Adam's ankles and pulls them out, spreads his legs, until he's utterly and totally open.

"God, I can't believe how fucking amazing you are." Ronan reaches down with his right hand to stroke Adam's cock. "I can't believe I get to have you."

Adam's fingers flex against Ronan's back, and he pushes up into his hand. He wonders a split second later if he wasn't supposed to. But Ronan just kisses his ear, so that must be okay. He pushes up again and whines at how good it feels.

"Fuck, I love that sound," Ronan swears hot into his neck, "let me hear it again."

Adam whines and whines and whines until his voice cracks.

"I got you, you're going to come in my hand now, okay? Come," and Adam chokes as out of nowhere his body does exactly the right thing.

Ronan keeps stroking him, breathing against him, encouraging him, "yes, just like that, God, Adam."

Adam trembles. Ronan's hand slows and comes to a halt. He lifts his thumb up to Adam's lips and holds it there. Adam opens his mouth, tentative, and licks the skin that Ronan is offering him. He can taste himself.

"Fuck, that was perfect, you're perfect." Ronan grabs Adam's head and kisses him, hard and brutal. It's like he wants something from Adam, but all Adam can do is kiss him back, so he does. He kisses Ronan until his mouth gentles, until the kissing turns soft and slow and easy, and then he kisses Ronan until Ronan breaks away and presses his lips to Adam's forehead.

Adam's hand slides off of Ronan's shoulder.

"Right, right, I got you." Ronan shifts his hold on Adam to drape him across the bed. Adam collapses into it.

Ronan says something he doesn't catch. He only responds when a finger runs across his forehead, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Hmmm?"

"So that's a yes." Ronan gets up off the bed.

Adam hears running water. It occurs to him that it would be nice to be clean. The bed is so inviting, though.

Ronan walks back into the room. Something wet brushes against Adam's back -- a towel. He starts to move, to pull his legs around so he can get up and do this for himself.

Ronan presses down on his back. "Lie down."

Adam freezes.

Ronan rests his forehead against Adam's shoulder. "Lie down, okay?" and Adam melts back into the bed while Ronan wipes him down.

It is nice being clean. It's nicer when Ronan rolls him onto his side and climbs into bed next to him.

"You can talk now," Ronan says.

"Don't want to," Adam murmurs, half-asleep.

"Just tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm not." He hears the words as he says them. Some emotion stirs in him. He opens his eyes. "I'm not thinking."

Ronan pets his face. "Okay," he says. "That's good," so Adam doesn't have to worry after all. He shuts his eyes and falls asleep.

-

Adam wakes up before Ronan in the morning. He almost rolls over and goes back to sleep, but that would be a waste of a very rare opportunity. He slips out of bed as carefully as he can, instead, and tiptoes into the kitchen.

Despite his caution Ronan is sitting up and rubbing his eyes when he returns to the bedroom, because he's biologically incapable of letting anything happen the way that Adam plans.

"What the hell is that?" and there's something very wrong with Adam that he can be so moved by Ronan's raspy just-woke-up voice when it's being used to mock his good intentions.

"Breakfast in bed." Adam holds out a bowl to Ronan and nearly spills coffee all over their blankets. He really should have thought better about trying to carry two bowls and two mugs and two spoons at the same time.

Ronan stares down at his bowl like he thinks it can tell him the future. "It looks like soggy cardboard."

"Burning down the kitchen sounded like too much work for a weekend," Adam says. "You'll have to settle for oatmeal."

"Gimme the coffee."

Adam does, which frees up a hand for him to get into bed with his own breakfast. The oatmeal doesn't appeal to him, though. He sets it down and drinks half his coffee trying to get his nerve up.

"We have to talk about this."

Ronan says, straightforward, "it was bland."

A sharp stab of hurt runs through him, that that's how Ronan characterizes their sex life, but then he looks up and realizes --

"Did you pour your coffee into your oatmeal?"

Ronan sticks a spoonful of brown oatmeal into his mouth. "'s more efficient this way."

"Shockingly, your culinary habits are not the thing that I'm worried about right now."

"You mean last night."

"Yeah," Adam says. "I mean last night."

"You liked it," Ronan says.

Adam doesn't respond.

Ronan's face collapses, and his voice is small when he adds, "right?"

Adam nods, slowly.

Ronan digs back into his oatmeal with an intensity that has to be from relief. "So what's the problem?"

"I'm not sure what happened."

"We had sex."

Adam glares at him. "You know that's not the answer I'm looking for."

"Why not? It was sex, you liked it, Q.E.D. You don't have to explain your case in a court of law before you can feel good."

"No, but I have to explain it to _myself_."

"Okay," Ronan says. Adam's heard him use that slow, low voice on skittish animals. It irritates him that Ronan would use it on him. It irritates him more that it works. "So we'll figure it out. You liked it when I pinned your hands down, right?"

Adam nods, faster this time. That isn't up for debate.

"But you didn't like being tied up," Ronan continues.

"Which doesn't make any sense," Adam argues. "It's the same result in the end."

"Is it?"

Adam nearly throws _yes_ in his face, points out that if he can trust Ronan to let go of him he can trust Ronan to unlock handcuffs or untie a rope. He has _proof_ that Ronan would do those things, even. It shouldn't make a difference.

But six months is long enough to know when he's just arguing with Ronan because he doesn't want to lose.

"No," he says. "It's not the same thing. I don't know _why_ , but it's not."

"So, now we know," Ronan says. "Restrains, no, being restrained, yes. You liked it when I was on top of you." Adam nods, keeps nodding as Ronan says, "and you liked it when I threw you around. You liked it when I told you what to do."

"I liked," Adam starts. Ronan's attention is a lot to handle. "I liked the certainty of that," he manages to say, though not without blushing.

Ronan cups his face in one hand. He's grinning, but Adam has his own embarrassed, embarrassing smile, so that feels all right. It feels like they match each other, like they're on the same page.

And then Ronan says, "God, I love seeing you like this."

Adam stops smiling.

"Don't." He pulls out of Ronan's reach. "You can't say things like that."

Ronan stares, baffled. "Why not?"

 _Because it makes my heart race, because I don't believe it, because what if you change your mind_ \-- "Because I don't know what to say."

"So don't say anything."

And now they're right back where it started, with Ronan doing things for Adam that Adam doesn't return. "That's not fair."

"I know." Ronan looks down. "But I want it anyway." Which means that Ronan think that this is not fair _to Adam_.

He sighs. "I think we're talking at cross purposes."

Ronan stares at his oatmeal abomination and then abruptly shoves it onto the nightstand. He takes the mug out of Adam's hands and puts it down too. That ought to have been a dead giveaway, but Adam is still caught off-guard when Ronan knocks him flat on his back. It surprises a laugh out of him, in spite of Ronan's serious expression.

"Let me cut through the bullshit," Ronan says. He's looming over Adam, but he doesn't have him pinned down. Adam could easily sit back up, or stand up, or get out of bed. He doesn't. "Sometimes I watch you think so hard that you hurt yourself and all I want to do snap you the fuck out of it, and I don't care if that means I do something nice for you or we get in a huge ugly fight or I hold you down and fuck you until you can't think anymore."

There's several responses he could make to that, at least half of which would turn this into a _huge ugly fight_ , but the thing Adam actually blurts out is "holy shit" because just like that he's hard.

"So if I do that for you, you can shut up and take a compliment for me."

Adam is thinking, but not in that hopeless wheels in the mud way that sadly he had no trouble identifying in Ronan's words. He thinks about how Ronan knew before he did that the handcuffs and the rope weren't working. He thinks about last night's certainty that everything was right. He thinks about being conscious of absolutely nothing except the fact that Ronan had him.

He thinks about the unquestionable truth that no matter what he does, Ronan is never going to stop doing things for him.

"When you put it that way," Adam says, "I sound like a lot of work."

"You just now noticed you're difficult?"

"No, but I was hoping you hadn't noticed." It might be that Adam is below Ronan, or that he's hard and a little breathless, or just the fact that he's not very funny, but that joke doesn't land the way he meant it to.

Ronan watches him. Adam holds his gaze, ignoring his own fear about what Ronan is going to say next.

But all Ronan does is shake his head. "You're such a pain in the ass, I don't know how I got stuck with you."

He shouldn't be, and he knows it, but Adam is relieved. "I think some people would call that karma," he says, with just a touch of a drawl, to be extra irritating.

"Hey, I'm Catholic. You can't bring that mumbo-jumbo into my house."

"God forbid we do anything Jesus doesn't like."

Ronan lies down next to Adam. Adam rolls onto his side so they face each other, slides a hand along Ronan's back and pulls their bodies closer.

This is familiar like making fun of each other is familiar, but Adam can't pretend that's all it is. He has a better idea now of everything that's underneath all these familiar things, the mockery and the arguments that turn into sex and the very bad breakfast in bed, and he can't forget it's there. He doesn't want to forget, but he doesn't know what to do with that information, either. It's like diving off a boat and seeing just how deep the water really goes; it's beautiful, but he needs to come up for air.

"Today," he starts. His lips are half on Ronan's, but he knows he'll be understood. "Can we just jerk each other off or something? Something normal."

"Yeah." Ronan kisses him. "Yeah, whatever you want," and Adam kisses back and tries to remember that's a gift and not a failing.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic, you can [reblog it on tumblr](http://toast-the-unknowing.tumblr.com/post/183852795050/work-a-little-harder-work-another-way).


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